Time
by Raven Sky Costello
Summary: Five connected one-shots each can stand-alone following on from the events of Countrycide, each focused around a prompt from the BDT - so far, Hours and Days. Janto. Please read and review.
1. Hours

Written for prompt #006 Hours, from the Big Damn Table. Beta'd by the lovely Hobbit985, who really is amazing. ;) Thanks, Em. Please read and review!

I hope you enjoy it! This is the first of 5 connected short one-shots, which start with the events in Countrycide, and ignore most of Torchwood thereafter.

Hours later, Ianto could still feel the meat cleaver's sharp edge hugging his throat. He could still smell the overwhelming tang of human blood. He could still hear distant, disgusting voices threatening to bleed him like nothing more than a piece of meat. He could still _see_ them if he closed his eyes.

He knew he'd never again forget his part in the food chain - he doesn't think he's at the top, not anymore. Because really - they're all at the bottom, aren't they? All nothing more than an energy source for whatever hungry animal comes growling. It makes him sick. He wretches, knowing he has nothing to wretch.

Ianto thanks God for Jack. Or maybe Jack for God - because really... which one came first? To Ianto - beaten, bloodied and bruised... God and Jack were one and the same. Ianto knew, with the complete certainty that comes from near death, that Jack was his knight in slightly dimmed armour. Jack is the one he belongs with. In those last few moments - when he truly thought his life was over - there was only one person on his mind. Not Lisa. Not his family. Jack.

If it hadn't been for him, Ianto would have died.

Jack tosses and turned. Just hours ago, he'd seen _his_ Ianto nearly killed and - Jack shuddered for the hundredth time that night - _eaten_ by a group of cannibles.

He'd killed the ringleader, of course. Well... what was he supposed to do? Surely not just lock him up and have done with it? No. That bastard had hurt Ianto. Jack would make sure that never happened again.

He'd never forget how close he'd come to losing this man - this uptight, beautiful man, a man he was struggling not to love. He wouldn't forget. Ever.

Jack thanked all the deities he knew that he'd got there when he had. He'd lost an entire team before - memories of his time in the army and a New Year's Eve gift from hell came to mind - and didn't think he could bear losing another. The thought of losing Ianto, too... He might as well have an unlimited supply of bullets and a machine gun.

At least that way, Jack might get to stay dead.

Ianto looked at his watch. They'd only been back for a few hours. Back from hell.


	2. Days

Written for prompt #007 of the Big Damn Table, Days. Thanks again to Em, who has beta'd this series of one-shots for me. All five one-shots have been written - it's just getting round to posting them... let me know if you want more! Please review whether you like or dislike this series, as reviews help me understand whether I'm on the right track, or if my stories are crap!

It was now fours days since the incident with the cannibals, and Jack had called Ianto to his office

It was now fours days since the incident with the cannibals, and Jack had called Ianto to his office.

'Ianto?' Jack asked, trying - and failing - to conceal both his irritation and concern. 'You haven't been to see Owen yet.'

'I have,' Ianto's tone was sarcastic, but he didn't care. 'He's just a little shorter than me, looks a little bit like an amphibian and has brown eyes... See, I've seen him, sir!'

'Ianto!' Jack hissed, irritation showing through. 'You know excactly what I mean. For _medical attention..._'

'I don't need any, sir,' Ianto said. Small white lies never hurt - so to speak - anyone, did they? Not when they were to make loved ones happy.

Jack looked at Ianto, pointedly. His expression let Ianto know precisely how little Jack believed him.

'Well I don't!' Ianto snapped. There was no way Ianto was letting anyone see his scars. His _other_ scars.

'Ianto,' Jack's tone managed to be both exasperated and annoyed. He was angry at himself, too. Angry that Ianto couldn't trust him, and angry that Ianto was hurt. He knew that Ianto would never have been hurt if Jack hadn't let him come to this mission. 'I've seen you limping, clutching your side. I see you rubbing your neck when yhou think no one is looking.'

'What does it matter to you?' The spite in Ianto's voice reminded Jack that he was hated by this man; that Ianto had been all to happy to help him die a slow, painful death. 'Sir.' Ianto spat out, belatedly, as if trying to show that his manners were forced.

'Can't let my staff walk around hurt now, can I?' Jack tried to make his voice drip with sarcasm, as opposed to the hurt he was truly feeling. 'Who'd get me my coffee?'

Ianto's face changed from indifference to hurt almost instantly. 'If that is all, sir.' He walked off, annoyed at Jack's door for not being able to slam properly.

Jack sighed, resting his head in his hands. He'd messed it up. Again.


End file.
